by Marcin Malek
I do not know what it means to be a Saint
ugliness is the mark worn on a grumpy face
midget – cursed otherwise…
a word which no grace the archetype of a blind guess
Shape always begins with a simple say
encircles imagination by spiders web
in kind of oblivion that holds morgue slabs
and bears everything in a clenched hand
But there are beautiful creatures around the earth
there haven glows for them over the deepest night
and here for all and sundry with no exception
believers will count for every tooth two fangs
for every eyelet an smoking eye
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Marcin Malek (born February 24, 1975) in Warsaw, Poland) is a Polish/Irish poet, writer, playwright, journalist, photographer. Published in: „Fronda”, „Tygiel Kultury”, „Akcent”, „Nowe Państwo”, „Stosunki Międzynarodowe”, „Opcja na prawo”, Leinster Express, Winner of the annual award of "Poetry&Paratheatre" journal (category: poem of the Year) for year 2012, (work: „Bieg – Czyli list do współczesnych”/"Run - a letter to the present"). Since 2006 lives in Ireland.
Last updated October 02, 2015